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Shaina Jun 2015
I will cash in my sense
and hope for change,
though the price of destruction
is just too high.
I am indebted-
to the lack of consistency in my moral compass
and these high risk wagers
that fill my pockets
with nothing more,
than remorse and confusion.

I never imagined pockets this full
could feel so empty, especially
when they’re so **** heavy,
and I am broke.

I am broke and I am satisfied.
I have grown to know struggle
as the only constant, and for that-
I am stronger. For that- I have latched onto the idea that crisis,
in some way, shape, or form
defines me.
It is part of who I am.
And who I am has a hard time
deciphering right from wrong
when there is a bottle in my hand,
and there is always-
a bottle in my hand.

I am sick of waking up
in stranger’s apartments
with a gut full of fear
or covered in *****
and it is comical,
in an unnerving way.
Seven years in this cycle
and I just don’t know how to say

If only it were that simple.

I am staring down the tip of an iceberg to alarming depths,
while thoughtlessly playing Russian Roulette
in the shape of a pint glass,
and I have fallen in love
with shooting blanks.

I didn’t know I was capable
of falling in love.

I guess what I am trying to say
is that I have trouble understanding the human race
or my place in it,
but I feel less estranged
when I spend my nights
pouring poison through my veins

until I wake up on the floor,
naked and dazed,
with an urge to jump out the window.

Well I am starting to believe
that insanity tastes like CutThroat
and looks a whole lot like what I see in the mirror on Saturday mornings
and I despise the apparent vacancy
in my eyes
in those moments of desperation.

I may not remember the taste of freedom
but I know for a fact that it will never taste like Makers Mark
at 10AM on a Sunday morning
from the bed of a man
where I feel sick having had shared my body.

Is this what madness sounds like?
A broken record I play on repeat,
hoping someday it will sound like a symphony worth listening?
a symphony worth loving?

Is this what madness sounds like?
A broken record I play on repeat?
because anything is better than silence?
because even broken records beg for human attention-
to be fixed or thrown out or pitied?
This is madness, isn’t it?
Well, ****.

I am more than a broken record.
I am more than a wasted Sunday.
I am more than an easy lay.
I am more than the taste of hopelessness, more than a cry for help, more than a glass of wine, a shot of whiskey.
I am more than the wasted hours I told myself I was nothing more than a pretty face.

I am more.

And it is time to start acting like it.
Shaina May 2015
I am a monarch
I haven't always been this way
I hide among the flowers in plain view
Inaudible from a distance
Indiscernible to the unobservant
I am camouflaged by the Earth
But when I spread my wings,
There is nothing as beautiful

I am a monarch
A silent governess,
I rule from the trenches
Unbeknownst to the governed.
I rule with empathy and patience
I do not give a ****
About your blind loyalty or compensation

I only wish to watch others
Learn to spread their wings too.

I am a monarch.
I say this as if I have something to prove.
Though only to myself
Do I need to remind
Over and over again,
Until these words make sense
Coming from my lips,
Until I feel my impossibly small body
Flutter from the Earth--

I am a monarch.
Shaina May 2015
I am fear encapsulated in a victimless body.
I am whole-
and full of nothing authentic.

I parade-
To be well liked
and I cling to my insecurities
until they devour me
and I still refuse to let go..

I am a coward-
staring down the depths of new beginnings.

I am unbroken and well-mannered,
riding the threshold of anxiety not quite severe enough to lean on pills.

I am empty,
Just a pawn in a game,
I stand for nothing.
I put on a great show.

I have no discipline attributed to valued intentions
I just have nothing else to do.

I'm not sure what I believe in.

I want to be broken
because I'm not too sure I know how to live.
I need someone to tell me what to do
So I have someone else to blame.

I'm just a crack in the sidewalk that the world fell in love with for absolutely no good reason.
I wrote this from a much darker place a few months ago. I haven't had a panic attack in a while but I stumbled across it and I think it's important to see and to show how quickly those thoughts can lead anyone in an awful direction. So this is Me, sharing a little piece of me with you.
Shaina Dec 2014
Simple shapes take brilliant forms and do you fail to notice?
What slides through the crease in your lips, the space between your fingers, the glimpse in your focus without proper attention?
Boredom is an impulse telling you to open your ******* eyes.
Devour the world before you fall apart bit by bit.
Study the effects of life on the folds of your body and be grateful that the greatest forces of this world haven't abandoned you as you'd often like to abandon yourself.
You're not alone sweetheart, Gravity kisses your face and chest daily.
So swallow the intangible impulses that whisper sweet nothings to you each morning and taste the bitterness you throw into your conscience when you glance into the mirror.
Simple shapes take brilliant forms and my dear, you are brilliant.
Shaina Dec 2014
Soul seeking is messy
As is being human.
Maybe your hair is on fire to thaw your frozen heart
Maybe your exterior is frozen to shield your fragile core
We don't fit in boxes when we choose to dance
We choose to leave the lines
Blur the edges
We are messy and maybe that's why the ink on my arm bleeds outside its given shape
Messy is gold dripping through my pores
Words that flow with no end result but a burning desire to be written and told
Drunk with intentions and pure bliss for finally doing rather than trying
In love with the vast space between my temples and this pulse inside these walls
Messy is love in a million pieces
Shaina Oct 2014
Chasing curves along the canyon ridge
Dreaming of skipping stones out on ice
Riding out the fleeting autumn sun
Listening to the fisherman's dream
Silence along the creek's edge
Alone with two poles

I will never capture the sunlight
Through the leaves in the breeze with these words
Though there is no fitter way to describe
The way in which the world looks through my eyes at this angle
Shaina Oct 2014
Colder weather
sheds light on the clear separation
between the intimate and the lonely

The intersection
the danger zone
is where you will find me

Flirting the line
between brainwashed and breaking hearts
trying on intimacy
for expectations sake

Calculated steps:

Failing to fall while pleading to fly
All the right steps in the wrong direction,
cowardly enough to hold someone
just close enough
to not feel
so alone
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